Born to Run / Don't Stop 'Til You Get Enough / The Seattle Rock N' Roll Marathon

I really wasn't born to run. I am slow like a turtle. And I didn't really start running until late in college, and it was on my own. I never did track or cross-country, I only ran when I had to for field hockey in high school. Coach Pat Mihalko yelling, "C'mon, Ladies!!!" (which, if you read my MRI post gives a whole new meaning to her intense commands.) I started running three mile runs my junior year of college and worked up to six now and again. Either of those seemed like forever. I was 25 or 26 when I ran my first organized 5k (which I am forever grateful for Mary and Nicole pushing me to do with them, it changed my life) -- and was ironically the Susan G. Komen breast cancer run. But I soon made the connection that running for me is a mood enhancer, stress reliever, and depression dampener, and that I feel like a completely different person after a run. I love that you only need a pair of sneakers. No gym membership or fancy equipment, just your feeters and will power to get out the door.

I say all of this because I feel like a sham calling myself a "runner" in front of "real runners." The ones who truly were born to run. But the turtle in me doesn't stop 'til I get enough either.

Last Saturday my girlfriend April and I ran in the Seattle Rock 'N Roll (HALF)-Marathon. Let's be clear about that "half." I am no hero, I promise that I will never run a full marathon. My knees would never make it. But it is 13.1 miles.

Shawna and Lisa are the real heroes here. Not participants, they picked us up at 5:30am to drive us down to Tukwila, a city about 13 miles southeast of Seattle (I just asked Rob, "Is Tukwila a 'city' or a 'town'?" Reply: "It's a shithole." So I'm still not sure.) They were awesome support especially since we were all up at 4am, it's now almost 7:30 and we're not there yet. April had decided that since the marathon wasn't benefiting anything, that she'd make the benefit -- me. So when I tried to bag a couple of weeks ago it wasn't going to happen. She bought all four of us a different "cancer" themed shirt for the benefit. I LOVE mine! It says:


We're putting the timing chips on our shoes and getting ready to jump out soon when April realizes we need to fill out the emergency medical info on the back of our numbered bibs so that when we fall down in exhaustion they know where to dump our bodies. I'm filling everything out and then got to the last part, "Your Medical History". I am so tired I can hardly see straight and then I see what I wrote. "Hahaha! Hey you guys, I just realized I wrote, 'Ok' ...and then after a minute remembered and had to add, 'but have breast cancer.' We were crying we were laughing so hard. I am so used to never having anything wrong, this is still so new to me. We decided it was awesome to forget you have cancer. Oh yeah. That stuff.



We were in traffic for what seemed like hours and they finally dropped us off a half-mile from the starting line. There were about 15,000 people doing the half, and about 10,000 doing the full marathon. Traffic.

START. Everyone is yelling and waving their arms and we're off. The idea is that there is supposed to be a live band playing every mile. The first one we see, the band is playing a Tom Petty song, runners are clapping and yelling, "Yeeeeeeewwwwwwwww!!", cheerleaders show up here and there along the sides, other groups shouting out encouragement, the runners yelling back all excited. This happens for about the second band too. By mile 3, not so much. Everyone is a little quieter. Woo hoo. Yey. April and I discuss that she wants to walk for a little bit after mile 3, but I had told myself I wouldn't try to walk before 9.

The reason why I'd tried to skip out of this event was because all of the time-consuming doctor appointments, trying to work, trying to catch up on medical reading every night, trying to make so many decisions, total exhaustion from all of this ... all of it sidelined me from running. One week before the marathon, I'd gone for one quick 4-mile run -- and managed to re-pull this ridiculously painful muscle on the side of my pelvis above my hip that had just mostly healed. After limping all week, I really could not see, even the morning of this run, how I was going to do it. And the longest run I'd ever done -- and it was 1-1/2 months ago -- was only nine miles. Over nine miles, my knee starts to kill. So that was my goal, to get to mile 9 and then walk.

MILE 4. April and I separated and now there wasn't anyone to talk to so I started really looking forward to the bands. Mile 4 stage was totally empty and the amps are playing... Tom Petty. Mile 5 is the exact same scenario: empty stage, no band, radio playing... Tom Petty. Really? Do I need to hear "Breakdown" already at only mile 5?? How is this inspiring? And the miles seem really long too when you are rewarded with ... nobody.

Every mile marker also has a clock. I'm starting to feel like maybe I'm running 11-minute miles. I'm great with that. My goal was 12-minute miles.

MILE 5. Running through these neighborhoods, there are all kinds of residents out in front of their homes cheering people on, squirting hoses to cool the runners, or they're just there to see the road closed and 25,000 people run by their house.

I pass yet another empty stage, this time no music, not even Tom Petty, but still I hear music coming around the corner. Is that...do I hear... ohareyoukidding I so need this now... it IS! This family was awesome. They had erected a 6-foot tall by 3-foot wide Michael Jackson tribute, a collage of Michael headshots and dance poses, along with framed photos of him that they were holding up over their heads. The older parents were hunkered down in lawn chairs boppin their heads to the beat near their iPod boombox while their adult children were walking around groovin and clapping to one of my all time favorite dance party songs, "Don't Stop 'Til You Get Enough." I think I sped up to a 9-minute mile I was so crazy energized. I finished mile 6 knowing that was a 10k and it felt like nothing. I wish I could have stopped and given each one of them a hug for that.

Mile 7 8 9. I realize I'm now running the portion of the Danskin Triathlon (also benefiting breast cancer!) run-route. I did the Danskin three summers in a row, '03, '04 '05. I take pride knowing that the best shape of my life, ever, was when I was 35 and the last tri I did then was my best time. I never thought that'd be possible. Just throwing that out there for encouragement for the aging. Anyway, I say to myself, hey, I didn't have to swim half a mile and bike 12 to get here this time, I just had to run. So those miles fly by. Two runners pass with t-shirts that say, "Are we in Seattle yet?"

Mile 10. Huh, this is weird. I'm over nine miles and my knee isn't bothering me, and still no sign of that pelvis muscle thing hurting. And I really think, "You know what? Cancer, you really did pick the wrong bitch." I'm totally elated and pick up my pace.

Now I'm confused. At some point the Halfs and the Fulls separate and go different routes. We're on closed I-90 and I see this petite adorable blond girl next to me with a Full bib on. I panic. Holy cow, did I go off with the full marathoners? Am I running 26 miles now? What's happening. I decide this girl is like a little chipmunk. I express my mild panic and she assures me we've rejoined routes together. Somewhere here we enter the I-90 tunnel. Yes, shade! And I hear an actual band in there!

No, not awesome. At all. The tunnel has no breeze whatsoever, it's humid and hot from all the bodies in there, and I am clearly stuck in a cloud of Ben-Gay smell that I cannot out run. For like a mile. The band is great but unlike in the fresh beginning of the race, there's only like three people even looking at them as we pass. Someone gives a weak thumbs up to them, someone claps off rhythm. Finally we're outside and running up the long overpass and I go by a runner who's down on the ground with medics. Poor person, on a closed gravely highway, sweaty and pressed up against a greasy dirty concrete barrier. Not more than another 50 feet, another person down with the medics bit around her too. I'm guessing both were heat exhaustion. That tunnel was nasty business.

Mile 11. I see the Chipmunk ahead again. She seems so perky and has also ran an extra two miles than me because she's on the Full course. She's so tiny she finds these little holes to pass runners. The crowd's whole pace has really slowed down now. Up on the overpass we have a beautiful view of the city and the water. I feel inspired and not tired, so I start to chase the Chipmunk for a while. But unlike me, she's going to have to run another 13 miles! I can't even imagine. I only have two more. So it doesn't seem odd that I pass the Chipmunk and take off. I can see Qwest Field Stadium where the finish is supposed to be. Yey!

At this point my goal is no longer to make it to mile 9, or just to finish -- now I'm greedy, I want to do it for time. I figure what's two more miles? I'm amped. I'm high on endorphins and they're busy screaming at the top of their lungs at this stupid lump. During this whole run I kind of wished I had a sign on my back that said, "I have breast cancer. What's your excuse?" But I decided that, while I'd like to raise awareness or be inspirational for someone, I don't what to be a total J-hole either. I could just see someone tapping me on the shoulder and saying, "A spinal genetic defect from birth. Why don't you go screw your self-righteous self?" Right?

But the point is I haven't felt this good in forever. I'm only getting winded because I've picked up my pace to a real run, no turtle about this. But, when you don't read your paperwork and at least glance at the race route, you can over-psyche yourself. While I could see Qwest Field from the overpass and thought I was almost there, I didn't realize the route enters the city and then spirals around and around and around until finally you get to the field. But whatever, I got there, sprinting the last mile, and finishing with a time of 2:10:16, averaging 10-minute miles, placing 5314 out of 15,610 finishers, and the farthest I'd ever run in my life by three or four miles. I was so excited!

I had surpassed all my expectations and felt totally fabulous at the finish. I called Lisa and she said, "You rocked the Rock n' Roll marathon!" That's right, Lumpy. (My lump, not Lisa.)

It's been two days and I'm still not sore. Because the surgery and treatment will be tough, and I know I won't feel this good for a while, the whole run I thought about how I just need to keep putting one foot in front of the other and that's exactly how I'm going to have to deal with this cancer stuff too. And while the finish line is still off in the distance and might be longer or harder than I think, I can still at least see it.